


Cat's Cradle

by levitatethis



Category: Lost, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: xover_exchange, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected visitor throws Dean and Sam's lives into a tailspin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat's Cradle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angeldylan628](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angeldylan628).



_“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”_  
**-William Shakespeare, Measure For Measure (_Act II, Scene I_)**

 

It’s a good hour and a half since either of them last spoke.

The car radio does the required buffering job of filling in the uncomfortable silence between them but the melodic riffs of false prophets ring hollow. Dean flexes his fingers around the steering wheel at ten-and-two and widens his eyes before relaxing them (keeping exhaustion at bay). All the while, he stares at the dark street ahead. Twists and turns offer a welcome distraction to focus on. Yet long straight stretches of nothing but dark road, spotted by the haze from the occasional streetlamp, make him all the more mindful of what is not being said out loud in the car.

Dean considers changing the radio station but is adamant about not appearing fidgety. There is something too vulnerable in the action, like blinking first in a staring contest, and he doesn’t want to give Sam the upper hand at the moment. After a fluid movement of rolling his shoulders and neck he risks an observant glance at Sam in the passenger seat. His brother is gazing lazily out the window, certainly not taking in the details of their immediate surroundings. He has his right arm resting on the door’s ledge and is pressing his fingertips, nails first, into the leather, a telltale sign of a busy, conflicted mind.

_‘You want to talk?’_ fights a battle between Dean’s tongue and mind. There was a time when it was easier to ask, but even with everything they have been through—survived—together, beyond the loaded concept of brotherhood, there has come to exist a profound tension of what, how and why they see the same things in such different ways.

Dean looks back to the road at the same time Sam calls him out with a sharply spoken, “What?”

Surprised, Dean raises one eyebrow questioningly. “_What_ what?”

Sam stares at him incredulously but instead of initiating a conversation he rolls his eyes and turns his gaze out the window, shaking his head.

Dean clenches his jaw and goes back and forth on whether to force the issue or treat it as yet another thing swept under the rug, sure to crop up explosively at the worst time.

They should know better.

A part of him wants to strangle Sam while the other part wants to ease the obvious burden he appears to be shouldering. This plight of human connection (and this has to be a motivating factor for why hunters tend to be a relatively solitary bunch) elicits a dismayed huff that he attempts to muffle by clearing his throat.

A yellowish light appears on the horizon and splits into two, announcing the first car in twenty minutes approaching from the other direction.

Sam sighs quietly.

Dean grips the wheel tighter.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

Sam hates lying to Dean and he doesn’t waste time convincing himself that statements of omission are exceptions based on some loose technicality.

There are many things he wishes he could say out loud—as a plea for help, understanding; advice. But a Hallmark card family they are not. Never have been. Still there is a dueling need within to reach out to Dean while also withholding what has proven to continually alter them drastically, exposing raw nerves and mounting high walls. At its most basic level, Sam can’t stand the looks of pity, distaste or, worse, _disappointment_, Dean would cast upon him for transgressions so inherently bound, both beyond his control and fully within it.

And lately, the personal has become very political.

The notion of an innate desire to protect those who are blood is more ingrained poeticism than natural instinct, or maybe that’s what it has become—an act of duty. The cool harshness of that contemplation twists a knot in Sam’s stomach and he wishes he could fix it all with a word; an act of self-sacrifice or steadfast defiance on his brother’s behalf.

But first steps are harder than they seem.

The ghost had appeared to them both; that much is a shared fact between them. Her forlorn demeanor coupled with biting anger befit someone who had apparently died quite young under mysterious circumstances and it struck a sharp contrast with her otherwise girl-next-door appearance (the very one that briefly raised Dean’s amused interest), complete with piercing blue eyes that were stormy one minute and calming the next.

Sam hasn’t yet told Dean that half of his surprise at her sudden appearance while they were working on another job was that he already recognized her. It wasn’t complete familiarity on his part, but in the week leading up to her becoming their case, Sam had glimpsed her here and there, on the periphery of his vision and in the darkened corners of his incessant dreams. At first he likened it to his mind playing tricks on him or their current job seeping into his subconscious or even some strange amalgamation of Jessica and a collage of other women who had crossed their paths over the years.

That is, until she showed up one night in their motel room and shocked Sam by startling Dean. In a split second the apparition believed to be a figment of his imagination was a fact.

Even now Sam easily recalls her rushed and panicked words.

“You have to find him. Aaron, my son…she took him.”

“Who?”

In a rapid second she disappeared from near the motel room’s closet door and reappeared two feet from Dean, next to his bed, prompting him to shrink back defensively before standing his ground.

“Kate. She took him from me to protect him, but she can’t. Not on her own.” She turned to look at Sam and eyed him contemplatively, leaving him feeling scrutinized under her discerning inspection. “You’re the only one who can save him.”

So began an hour long otherworldly debriefing during which Sam finally put the name Claire Littleton to the vision that plagued him and was told a tale so tall—of a plane crash and a mysterious island—so as not to be believed. Which in their field of work made it virtually undeniable.

With her head bowed, Claire’s wavy blonde hair obscured her face. Sam took the opportunity to exchange a questioning look with Dean who quizzically shrugged his shoulders in return. When she looked up and pushed her hair behind her ears the innocence suddenly conveyed in the movement invoked in Sam a strong desire to help her whichever way he could.

Where it came from he couldn’t say with certainty. Maybe he was tired of seeing that same look of uselessness over and over again in the cases they took on as each one led without pause into the next. Maybe it was altruism. Maybe he imagined that was how his mother was at the end, desperate and urgent, risking her life for a son she would never see live into adulthood. If the opportunity had existed to rewrite that past, would she have taken it?

Claire settled her eyes on him. “Please—you have to help.”

Sam could only purse his lips and nod.

Dean, despite being at a loss for words, was the one who said, “We’ll see what we can do.”

She was smiling with relief while Sam was beginning to search through his dad’s journal when he heard her again.

_‘You have to help him, Sam. His fate is tied to yours.’_

“Wh—what did you say?” Sam asked looking up.

Dean furrowed his brow and glanced between them with confusion apparent in the lines strongly etched into his face. “Nothing.”

Claire gazed at him with a flat expression, but her voice was clear and firm in his head. _‘He won’t understand. Neither will she. Only you can protect Aaron. They’re coming for him.’_

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

With years of experience Dean has developed a keen eye for those, like him, who have toed the fine line of the law. He recognizes the suspicious glint in Kate Austen’s eyes as she fully takes in the sight of him and Sam standing in her living room (under the pretense of investigating complaints about a potentially dangerous man spotted in the neighbourhood) as if she is considering what the odds are she can either make a run for it or discouragingly placate them until they have no option but to leave.

“Like I said, I haven’t seen anything,” Kate says with a casual shrug. “But I’ll definitely keep my eyes open.”

She is tense, a fact made more obvious when she attempts to act unbothered by their presence despite being uneasy about the story they have presented her rather than the real reason she openly (and with good reason) distrusts them.

Although being an errand boy for a ghost is hardly a job Dean takes particular pride in, this is one occasion that has piqued his interest for a flurry of reasons. With a bit of research, Sam had managed to piece together sketchy bits of information about Kate (and Claire’s by extension) past, but seeing her in person is all together different. Dean is curious about what has brought her to _this_ point—as _this_ person passing off another woman’s kid as her own—careful and distant—with self-protection mode in first gear at the mere hint of trouble. It’s very familiar and Dean experiences an unexpected feeling of understanding.

“That would be great,” Sam says with fake appreciation and a swift glance at Dean. “But according to Mrs. Johnson the man approached her son. Now, she mentioned you have a boy—Aaron?—and if we could talk to him—,”

“He’s lying down.” Kate’s curt reply is delivered as she moves towards the front door, a sprint in her step telling them unequivocally it would be best for all parties if they left.

Seeing the flash of panic in Sam’s face, Dean quickly calls out, “We’re not trying to scare him, but if we could just ask him—,”

“Look.” She turns around, putting her back to the door. Her eyes are fixed on his in a battle of space and will and she wraps her arms around her chest in a defiant show, extra resistant to their attempted infiltration into her world. “If he saw something he would have told me. Now if you wouldn’t mind—,”

“Mommy?”

As her eyes shoot past his, Dean turns around to look at the young boy on the stairs. With blond hair and blue eyes he is the image of Claire, a realization that sends a twisted shiver through him. As he recalls the truth of the ghost’s words he dubiously reconsiders the woman who has swept in to play house.

The child nervously wraps his right hand around the banister and for a moment Dean sees Sam as a young boy, in his place. All the old feelings of having to protect him—out of following orders and _just because_—tug Dean’s lips into a tight line and he has to look away to the floor for a second to channel his thoughts and not lose control of their first meeting.

“Hey baby,” Kate says maneuvering the space between the brothers. She walks up a couple of stairs then crouches low, gazing up at him. He smiles in return. “You tired of playing upstairs? Want a snack?”

Dean ignores the lie from earlier and thrusts his hands in his pockets. With his head angled down he raises an eyebrow at the kid, but it is Sam who makes the first move.

“Hey little man.” Sam’s voice is friendly yet uncertain and he steps up to the railing, peering at Aaron through the bars.

The second Aaron’s eyes meet Sam’s his smile disappears. But he doesn’t appear frightened. Rather Aaron seems to be transfixed. In turn, Sam seems hypnotized. Their unfettered stare is unnerving to say the least and Dean can tell by the way Kate watches them he isn’t the only one wondering what exactly is silently transpiring between the two.

She flits her eyes from Aaron (who is still enamoured with the younger Winchester) back to Sam. Placing a protective hand on Aaron’s shoulder she trains a pointed glare at Sam and stands up slowly.

“I think you’d better go,” she says emphatically.

Dean watches Sam closely and thinks about the strained silence between them since Claire first appeared into their lives desperate for their help. There is something he is not getting, something Sam is not telling him. He wishes he could will Sam’s attention away from the kid but it is as if he and Kate no longer exist.

Something is definitely wrong.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

From a safe distance down the road, Sam stares at the front of the house. He has been there for an hour, heading for the stakeout not long after Dean left the motel that morning on personal business that he didn’t elaborate on.

More secrets—  
Out of doing the right thing.  
Out of sparing the other.  
Out of self serving endeavours.

He wants to make all of this right and do it without dragging Dean further down the rabbit hole. Differences of opinion aside, contrasts in approaches notwithstanding, Sam knows that at his core, Dean would do anything to help him; the self righteous and conflicted older brother trying to clear the hazardous way, sometimes a bit too harshly. But if Sam is going to do right by Dean in return he has to do right by himself first.

Spying Kate exiting the house he shifts in the driver’s seat. She is walking Aaron over to her car and making goofy faces at him as she opens the back door and fits him into his seat. They seem so happy, content.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Claire says from the passenger seat.

Sam does not reply. Ever since she first made herself known to them a week earlier, she has found ways to catch him away from Dean. During those visits she has pleaded fervently for his help to save Aaron. It is a story that sounds close enough to his own. He cannot help but pause to consider the desperate state she is in.

There is little doubt in his mind that Aaron’s welfare is of the utmost importance to Claire. Hearing the distress in her voice, coupled with the loving way she speaks of her son, tugs at Sam’s heart. It is a mother’s adoration that he feels, but also laments losing early in his life. Her visits always leave him confused. He wants to help yet is unsure if he is being driven by the emotional need to recreate what he does not have through her relationship to Aaron, rather than rational thought. Paranoia about making a mistake runs deep.

Claire suddenly feels as if she is right next to him even though she is still in her seat.

“She thinks she’s given him another chance, but she’s only put a larger target on their backs. You have to take him away.”

Sam sighs. “You’re asking me to kidnap the kid.”

“Not _any_ kid. _His_ kid.”

Sam bites back the dismissive, inappropriate retort resting on his tongue, a textbook case of ‘protesting too much.’ He gazes out the window as Kate backs the car out of the driveway and heads off in the opposite direction. Sam drops his shoulders with weighted resignation.

“Aaron is no more _his_ kid than I am,” he finally says, the hint of force undeniable.

“And it better stay that way,” Claire insists, her voice breaking. “My son will not be used as some soldier in an insane religious war.”

Sam takes a deep breath and twists in his seat to face her. “I—I don’t know how I can help exactly. What it is you want me to do?”

“I need you to keep Aaron out of their hands.”

“And do what?”

“Get him to Jacob.”

Frustrated, Sam clenches his fists. “You know you keep saying that like I’m supposed to know what it means, but I don’t.” Gesturing to her, he adds, “You keep showing up, repeating the same mantra—‘get Aaron to Jacob’—‘don’t let _them_ get him.’ I can guess who _they_ are because they’ve been breathing down my neck too. But Jacob? You want me to get your son to an island you can’t even say for certain exists!”

Claire sighs and drops her shoulders in a show of defeat. He watches her eyes close, only to open a few seconds later with a look of willed determination on her face as if she is trying to believe the certainty behind what she is saying.

The quickness with which she speaks however, betrays the urgent panic below. “I asked for your help the first time because I was being polite. Now I’m telling you. My son will not be part of the end of the world. They can’t have him doing their disgusting dirty work. Kate’s in over her head and she doesn’t even know it—yet. If you don’t take Aaron from here the consequences will be far worse than you can even begin to imagine. Please, don’t waste time or risk my son’s life on things that don’t matter.”

“Don’t matter?” Sam exclaims. “Taking the kid—it’s insane—but that’s the easy part. It’s what happens next I’m having trouble wrapping my head around; the part you’re being pretty damn cryptic about.”

“I’m telling you what I know,” Claire says with a mix of reconsidering her approach and being at a loss with what to do next. “The truth is I _need_ you. You faced him down before and survived. The fact that they don’t want to hurt you, or Aaron, is something you can use to your advantage. Please. Most people don’t have that leverage.”

Sam sits back on his seat and slams his hand back against the headrest with a gruff groan. Turning his head he stares out the window and quietly says, “I should tell Dean.”

“You could. But what if he only looks at you like he doesn’t know you?” Claire questions with shake of her head and widened eyes. “What if he treats my son like the monster you know he thinks you might still be?”

“He doesn’t think that.”

She snaps her mouth shut, at once rebuked, but softly adds, “Are you sure?”

“He’s not like that! He’d—,” But Sam can’t finish the far reaching thought that Dean would understand this mission is about more than safely guarding Kate and Aaron. “He didn’t turn his back on me. He won’t.”

“But what’s Aaron to him?” Claire asks in a quiet voice, exasperated frustration undeniable in her tone. She bows her head and stares at her hands in her lap. Quietly she continues, “He’s nothing but a reminder of the childhood you two never got. If he knew the truth there’s a chance…

She turns to look at him. “You know what he might do. Can we really take that chance?”

Sam closes his eyes and imagines the disbelief and anger in Dean’s eyes at the realization this job actually entails far more than taking a kid from the only mother he has known. In his mind’s eye he can see the grimace on Dean’s face at the news that Aaron shares a common repulsive bond with Sam in the form of the yellow-eyed demon, Azazel, with sights set on fire and brimstone.

Another brick in the wall.

After a few minutes he feels a chill against his right cheek that sends goosebumps up his body.

“Please, Aaron needs you,” Claire whispers into his ear. “The world depends on it.”

 

************ ********** ********** *********** ************

 

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Dean insists, looking from Sam, who is standing near the motel room’s window, and Castiel, who is sitting on the edge of the bed nearest the door.

Castiel casts cool eyes his way. “You should ask your brother.”

Dean furrows his brow and looks at Sam expectantly. Shrugging his shoulders he says, “Sam?”

Sam’s eyes go wide feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Curiosity at the lie has Dean eyeing him very closely.

Castiel slowly turns to stare at him, and stands up. Speaking at Sam, he directs his words at Dean. “He’s lying.”

“What—no, I—I don’t,” Sam stumbles over the words.

Dean thoughtfully considers Sam, his brother looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and says to Castiel, “And why would he do that?”

The breath goes out of Sam as the façade slowly slips. Dropping his head forward, he looks up at Dean with apologetic resignation at explaining the heavy tension in the room. “Claire says the only way to save Aaron is to take him away from Kate.”

“What?” Dean demands with unwelcome surprise at the new tidbit of information.

Castiel’s gaze briefly flicks over his way before settling back on Sam and skirting over his face as if trying to decipher the puzzle below. Tilting his head to the side, Castiel says, “Sam doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam snaps, taking an imposing step into the angel’s space.

“It’s not up to _you_ to save him.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Dean watches the showdown with a nonplussed expression. His mind whirls with why they are fighting over Aaron and doing so with definitive assertions which convey a do-or-die urgency. Raising his voice, he says, “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not invisible and I sure as hell can hear you both. Someone better start explaining to me what’s got both your panties in a twist.”

The uncertain look exchanged between Sam and Castiel, with Sam angling his head to the side and Castiel narrowing his eyes while his mouth hangs half parted, reads as a challenge, one it seems Sam doesn’t want taken.

Castiel turns on the spot to face Dean. “Sam’s found out Aaron was visited by Azazel too.”

Dean’s stomach lurches as the bruises and stains of a wayward childhood, one that threw them wildly into the path not taken by others, rumbles through him, taunting. The hairs on the back of his neck rise in response to the name he has long despised, the monster of nightmarish fairytales cackling from beneath the bed.

Another child.

Another Sam to be used and recreated as an end of the world fighter. But what makes Aaron different?

Swallowing hard, Dean offhandedly muses, “He really got around.”

“He covered his bases,” Castiel clarifies. “On the off chance he wouldn’t be around to see it through himself. His brethren have come to collect.”

“He’s just a child,” Sam argues.

“So were you and look how that turned out.” Castiel does not hesitate to shoot back.

Chastised, Sam pulls back and with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation drops his gaze to the floor.

After a pause Dean asks, “What happens if they get him?”

Castiel’s silence answers the question.

“Haven’t we seen this movie already?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “What is this, the sequel?”

Sam’s mouth in a tight line declares, _‘be serious.’_

Dean rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “I thought we were already living Apocalypse Now?”

He casts an apprehensive glance at Sam hoping his brother understands he doesn’t mean to bring this up as a personal slight.

Castiel looks between them. “Lucifer still intends to make Sam his vessel.”

Dean purses his lips and sees Sam clench his fists.

“But his intended reign, like my Father’s, is not one of isolation.” Castiel rests unblinking eyes on Dean. “He requires a…right hand man.”

“He wants a sidekick?” Dean queries.

“He’s just a child,” Sam exclaims.

“For now.” Castiel shifts his focus to Sam. “But Aaron isn’t any child. He needs to be contained before Lucifer’s followers find him first. Once the two of you are in their hands, with time on his side to groom you both, eventually Lucifer will be nearly unstoppable.”

“So we get to him first,” Sam insists.

“And do what?” Castiel steps into his space. “You need us—

“We’re not killing him,” Sam states. “The two of you may think his life is already written off but I know he can still change it.”

“Hey! No one is getting killed,” Dean snaps, hurt at the assumption (even if it is knee-jerk) that he would okay with such an act. “No one is touching the kid until we figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Does Castiel share that sentiment?” Sam grouses.

Dean huffs an annoyed breath. Sam’s sometimes blind belief in his own good ultimately triumphing over evil is a lesson in faith and overwhelming frustration for Dean. There are times, like this one, when he wishes Sam would see the big picture, or at least understand Dean is as compassionate as he is impartial. He wishes Sam could see he wants to help.

Dean positions himself between Sam and Castiel and waits until he is sure Sam’s attention is only on him. “Were you even going to tell me what you were up to?” he is incredulous. “Huh, Sammy? Or were you just going to pull a magic act and disappear into thin air with the kid?”

Sam’s eyes soften. “Dean.”

“No,” Dean interrupts and leans closer, never breaking their eye contact. “You want me to trust you, to believe that you don’t have some screwed up angle in your corner, but then you try to pull some backdoor crap?”

“It’s not like that.” Sam reaches for him but Dean steps back.

“Yeah, well I don’t really know what it’s like.” Dean shakes his head and shuffles on the spot. “I don’t know what you’ve got slamming around in your head because you won’t tell me.” He is unable to hide the abject disappointment in Sam thinking he can’t share the most personal sides to him.

Sam takes a deep breath and slowly steps by him and Castiel. He runs his hands through his hair and, dropping them to his side, turns to face them. “I can help him. Give me the chance. I _know_ I can do it.”

“The way you helped unlock the final seal?” Castiel reminds them.

The anger Dean still feels at Sam for withholding pertinent information couples with the pity that comes out of wanting to shield his brother from heavy judgments. “Cas.”

“I screwed up.” Sam moves towards them, his right hand pressed over his heart. “I know. But it doesn’t mean he’ll do the same. Given the chance, Aaron might actually be the one to stop this whole mess. Maybe he’s the key?”

The heartfelt sentiment at the center of the plea strikes Dean and he can feel his rationale clouding, looking for loopholes. Turning to Castiel he asks, “If we get to him first there has to be a way for you and the other angels to protect him, to make sure no one hurts him.” Dean glances at Sam. “Sam’s proof that just because Lucifer wants, doesn’t mean he gets.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Castiel’s reply is flat and stern.

“C’mon!” Sam cries out with his arms raised. “Look, if Aaron is as powerful as you think, couldn’t you use him for your side? Think about it—with the right guidance and protection…”

It’s an interesting debating point and Dean can’t help but wonder how different life may have been if Sam had the chance he is insisting on for Aaron. It does not escape his notice that in the face of so much destruction, Sam still has it in him to believe in something good. It’s admirable as it is foolish, but Dean is not opposed to having it rub off on him in some way.

He has to believe that despite everything they have seen and survived, looking away is the easy out they were never taught. The mettle that drives him has been instilled since childhood. It tells him to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. He may be a hunter but it is not a separate existence from working to protect others. They come hand in hand.

Dean turns to Castiel. “I think we can work something out.”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

It is not so much a standoff or covert tactical display as it is a clusterfuck.

Initially Sam had wanted to appeal to Kate’s ability to rationalize the irrational by explaining the prophetic destiny on Aaron’s head, for good or bad, counting on her experience on the island to give his words some sort of weight.

While Sam was willing himself to believe it would all go off without a hitch, Dean must have seen the flickered change in her eyes from skepticism to protective mother bear mode. Suddenly guns were drawn.

Then it was slow motion and high shutter speed all at once.

Strong words were hurled between Dean and Kate, declarations of intent and violent warnings raised and countered. Sam felt like the impotent go-between in a no man’s land with his arms raised to placate her while working to figure out how Dean wanted it to play out.

It is when Aaron’s soft footsteps sounded out above them, however, that all hell breaks loose.

It doesn’t matter who fires the first shot, just that three people go scrambling. In the melee Sam summons the power to send the guns flying. Kate lunges forward to grab him, but he does not intend to be a hostage. He twists out of her grasp, letting Dean try to restrain her, while he makes a quick beeline up the stairs.

“You sonofabitch!” Kate yells behind him. “Don’t you touch him!”

“Sam! You better hurry up,” Dean booms.

He hears them scuffle but keeps going until he spots Aaron peeking from the slightly ajar door to his room down the hallway. Sam stops and puts a wide smile on his face, slowly approaching. “Hey Aaron. It’s okay. You remember me?”

Aaron looks unsure but nods slightly.

Sam moves closer and crouches in front of him.

“Mommy’s mad.”

Sam opens his mouth with some pandering response to reassure the boy, but no words, at least none that would work, come forth. The reality of Aaron’s predicament presses down on his shoulders like an invisible weight he cannot brush off. Like Sam, Aaron did not ask for his, but it found him—to use him—all the same. He wonders what kind of world allows a person to be wielded as a weapon with no choice in the matter. He thinks of the strained tension that filled the drawn out spaces between him and his father, even with Dean for a time, over issues of unquestioned orders.

At the same time Sam is aware he is doing the same thing to Aaron. The puppet master may have changed but someone is still pulling strings. The difference is that Sam’s primary concern is Aaron, not the boy’s place in the grand scheme which would culminate in the end of days.

Sam sighs. “She’s mad at me and my brother. We wanted to surprise you with a camping trip but forgot to tell her.”

“Camping?” Aaron’s face lights up a fraction.

“Yeah,” Sam laughs. “You know—tent, fire, marshmallows.”

Aaron pulls the door open wider. “Is Mommy coming?”

Sam clears his throat and looks over his shoulder, startled to see Claire watching from a few feet away. Quickly he turns back to Aaron and realizes the ghost is not visible to him.

“He’s so big,” Claire says wondrously and then she’s right next to Sam gazing down at Aaron. She hovers her hand over his head and along the invisible barrier that exists just above his shoulder, then turns her eyes to Sam. “He deserves to have his life begin now. Make him feel safe. Let him know he’s not alone.”

Sam clears his throat and smiles at Aaron. “We thought it would be fun with just the guys. Your mom can come next time—,”

A loud crash rocks the house. With a panicked look, Claire disappears while Sam stands up and takes a step towards the stairs. He feels Aaron slip his tiny hand into his and looks down at expectant eyes—worried—looking back. Squeezing gently he leads the boy partway down the stairs and stops in surprise at the sight that greets him.

Kate is on the sofa with her eyes closed.

A million worse case scenarios raise bile up his throat. “You didn’t ki—,”

“She’s sleeping.”

Only then does Sam notice Castiel off to the side looking down at his right hand, then up to return Sam’s gaze.

Dean is huffing loudly from the struggle and with a grimace shifts his attention from Sam to Castiel. “Thanks for finally showing up. Did you get lost?”

“I thought you were supposed to be better at this?” Castiel’s intones flatly, approaching him.

“Yeah, well she turned out to be more Lara Croft than Laura Ingalls,” Dean snaps, tenderly touching his stomach.

The hand in Sam’s clutches back tightly and he gives Aaron a broken smile. “It’ll be okay.”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

Disheartening panic races through Dean at the events which have made their unthinkable worse case scenario a reality. It wasn’t suppose to turn out this way—not with Sam glaring at him and forcibly shoving him back, readying for a fight; not with Aaron’s fate accepted yet uncertain and Dean trying to stop Sam’s imagination from running away and enacting impenetrable defenses between them.

The fact is it was easier said than done to protect Aaron. In the days following their rescue mission, however, the rules were rewritten. Dean hazards a guess that it was Castiel’s band of angels coming out in force around Aaron which acted as a beacon, drawing Lucifer’s minions directly to the boy. Their attacks…Dean has seen many horrific things in his lifetime, he has survived that which most people would never be able to fathom, but these ones chilled him.

The extent of Lucifer’s manipulation and near perfect mind control shouldn’t have been as astounding to him as it was. Just remembering the torturous trials drips a cold sweat down the back of his neck—making him think he was seeing Sam and Aaron bludgeoned and brutalized on grotesque display; creating visceral illusions that Sam was not his brother but some madman (and making Sam see the same thing with Dean), encouraging them to come to blows; insinuating mind game suggestions that Aaron was some ‘Child of the Damned’ beginning to manifest frightening powers.

Dean knows it isn’t just him who saw they were in over their heads. He understands Sam’s fear at letting the boy out of his guardianship, but the child is far safer in Castiel’s care than the risks incurred if he stayed with them. Yet, getting Sam to see what they both already know is a lesson in the stubbornness that sometimes ensnares them.

The broken truth is that Sam’s questioned trust of Castiel doesn’t come out of nowhere. It is precisely why Dean demanded that Castiel not hurt the boy, but protect him at all costs or else there would be hell to pay. The promise was made, but with the Apocalypse full steam ahead and Sam looking lost, lashing out in devastation because he doesn’t know what else to do, Dean is suddenly unsure. He hates second guessing himself and is sure Castiel would tell him if plans for Aaron changed.

But the thought continues to nag.

Dean pushes Sam hard against the wall, tightening his fingers in the material of his shirt to keep him pinned in place.

“You’re a fucking liar.” Sam struggles against him. “You promised—,”

“I didn’t break any promise,” Dean says through clenched teeth.

Sam looks at him with disgust. “That’s a load of crap and you know it.” He manages to shove Dean in the chest hard enough to loosen the grip and provide the necessary leverage so that he can catch Dean across the jaw with a right hook.

Dean stumbles backwards with his hands raised to his face. Sam stands tall and Dean glares, dropping his hands and working his jaw.

“You promised—,” Sam drives forward, thrusting his head against Deans chest and sending them both crashing to the floor.

With his breath knocked out, Dean struggles to force Sam off of him, but his brother is heavy and using everything in his power to restrain Dean.

“And I kept it,” Dean argues. “But even you know this is bigger than us.”

“And now he’s dead,” Sam yells, pushing his fists hard against Dean’s chest.

_No_, Dean corrects the statement in his head (as much as he tries to convince himself), but knows better than to remind Sam that the boy is still alive. For now. The fury in Sam’s eyes is for the perceived betrayal that won’t be easily rectified. Everything has turned into a battle between them and where once it could be written off as the typical banter indicative of sibling rivalry, now it is a war between opposing forces.

The greater the distance between them grows, the more profound the hurt he feels, the colder Dean reactively becomes in the subconscious attempt at self-defense. He pushes away hard, preferring the fight over the breakdown, and yet protecting Sam, worrying about him, has always been part of the territory even when they are worlds apart. Dean has tough walls to weather all sorts of storms—but Sam still finds his way through the cracks.

Dean is finally able to twist his body, angle his right elbow up and across the side of Sam’s face, sending him careening over to the floor. Dean scrambles up while Sam slowly stalks to his feet, gently touching one hand to his now bleeding lip.

“I knew I shouldn’t trust you.” Sam glares at him.

The words turn Dean’s stomach but he refuses to flinch in the face of misplaced derision. “Why? Because things didn’t go exactly as planned?” he demands. “Because I had to make a judgment call—which, by the way, I brought to you first, so don’t put this all on me?”

Sam narrows his eyes. “Because you think you know better than me what Aaron needs.” Standing up he begins moving about the room, his eyes never leaving Dean, his breathing heavier from the adrenalin speeding through him. “I’m not just your kid brother, Dean.”

“I know that.” Dean steps forward, but stops short when Sam raises his hand in a stop gesture.

Sam chokes on his words. “I know part of you is still pissed about me choosing Ruby and I’ve tried to explain—,”

“I know that wasn’t all you. She was playing with your head.” Dean is firm yet sympathetic.

Sam looks at him with downcast eyes. “But it still bothers you. And I get that. But my mistakes? I’m trying to right them. I need you to get that. To hear me out.”

Dean’s state of mind is clouded by overwhelming emotions at Sam recalling every, and any, personal issue that exists between them, so that he all he hears is the attack for not being the brother he should be.

“When have I not heard you? I have _never_ treated you as anything less than my brother, but I am getting pretty damn tired of being held accountable for issues you had with dad,” Dean seethes and pushes closer. “I was the go-between for you two because _I had to be_,” he states, pointing at Sam. “You got a chance to try something else and I’m sorry that little make-believe life didn’t work out for you.”

“Don’t call it that. It wasn’t some game to pass the time.”

“And neither is _this_. I need your head in the game.” Dean tries to stay focused.

“Instead of being some emotional headcase?” Sam retorts sarcastically.

“If that’s what it takes,” Dean deadpans.

The tension mounts as the silence settles heavily around them, accompanied by an unflinching stare-down.

Sam turns his back causing Dean to huff his quiet irritation while fisting his hands tightly at his side and beginning to walk away.

“I can’t—won’t—pretend that I’m not worried about Aaron being with Castiel. I know what Castiel promised you but we also know the Apocalypse changes everything,” Sam eventually says.

Dean sighs. “Aaron will be okay. Cas would tell me—,”

“What? That it turns out Aaron has to die and, by the way, have a nice day?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If I really thought we could help him on our own, I’d do it. You _know_ that. But wishful thinking isn’t enough. You saw what happened when he was with us. You want us bashing our heads against the wall or looking at another—a better—option?”

Taking a deep breath, Dean adds, “Sometimes we have to do things we wish we didn’t.”

“That’s just an excuse.” Sam leans forward into Dean’s space. “So you can let us off the hook.”

Dean further closes the space between them by leaning closer. “You think it’s that easy for me? That I can’t feel for the kid?”

“I think you want to believe Castiel is going to make all of this okay. But we don’t know that,” Sam’s tone is tired and confused.

Dean lets the words sink in. “And you can say with absolute certainty that Aaron will be safer with us?”

Sam hesitates with a non-answer.

Dean steps into his space and holds him with an unflinching stare. Softening his voice, but remaining firm he says, “This isn’t me against you, Sammy. We’re on the same side. Always have been. Don’t give Lucifer the satisfaction of thinking any different.”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

Sam is slumped in the passenger seat, a newspaper loose in his hands, gazing across the parking lot at Dean who’s just inside the diner, smiling at the waitress at the counter, as he buys two sandwiches to go.

There’s a headache threatening to take over and Sam is caught between trying to ignore it or try wiling it away. Like the other parts of his life, it is another thing that exists just beyond his control. The myriad of conflicting thoughts battling for domain, ironically, left him almost mute around Dean.

Each time Sam thinks he is ready to engage Dean in a deep analytical debate over their actions, irritable anger begat of frustration follows not far behind, leading him to snap his mouth closed in a bid to avoid another draining argument. Deep down he knows Dean is right; they are on the same side. But he cannot help feeling there is a loophole Aaron is on the verge of falling through, if he hasn’t already.

Maybe if Sam stopped thinking about doing the right thing and just did it—

“He’s so sure of himself. Doesn’t think he might be wrong.”

At the sound of Claire’s voice Sam looks over his shoulder to find her leaning forward in the backseat, glaring out the front window at the diner. She flits her eyes over to him. “He wants to believe the angels will protect my son.”

“Castiel said they would.”

“And how long has it been since you last heard from him?” Concern is obvious in her rushed words.

“Dean made him promise.” Sam remains as unconvinced as she is.

Claire regards him closely. “And the end of the world trumps that. There’s no guarantee Castiel won’t hurt Aaron if he thinks there’s no other way.” Thoughtfully, with a nod outside, she adds, “Why do you think Dean’s been as quiet as you?”

She stares back at Sam. “The only certainty is Aaron _must_ go to Jacob.”

Sam ponders her for a few seconds then looks to the diner where he can see Dean paying at the register, a flirtatious smile in place.

He sits up and shifts to put his back closer to the door, letting him look from the backseat to the windshield more comfortably and inconspicuously. He keeps the newspaper open to pretend he is reading.

Claire stares at him with a contemplative gaze and a slightly parted mouth barely containing insistent words. “I know your brother is doing the best he can, but I’m telling you it’s not the answer.”

Her declaration confirms Sam’s suspicions, not to distrust Dean but to be skeptical of bigger picture motivations neither of them is privy to.

Her eyes search his; when she seems to find what she is looking for she says, “We can still make this right. There’s still time.” For the first time in a long while, he hears hope in her voice.

“You know for sure he’s still alive?” Sam asks, surprised. His mind is already whirling with another chance to set Aaron’s life in the right direction.

“Do you know what my son has already survived? This isn’t even close to being the end.” She reveals a tiny, proud smile.

Nervousness sends a chill up his body at the long, dark road that may twist and turn ahead of him. He flaps the paper in his hands and looks at Dean talking with the waitress just inside the door. For a split second Dean’s eyes travel his way and Sam sucks in a sharp breath.

“I’m not going against him. I—if I told him about Jacob I’m sure he’d understand,” Sam says awkwardly. He dislikes taking the chance of being on opposing sides, knowing that going this way runs the risk of increased strain between them until he can better explain—show—Dean why it needed to be done.

All of that said; he is tired of feeling at odds with the one person who means more to him than life itself. On the one hand going against Dean could be done because in the end, when it matters, when facades are pulled away, beyond the anger and not measuring up, Sam feels Dean’s protective presence looming just over his shoulder, concerned. Yet, he cannot shake the feeling that, no matter his reasons, he may be letting his brother down, intentions be damned.

Maybe that’s the point. Dean tries to understand, to do the right thing, but it isn’t always for the best. It seems to be a fault they both share. _Genetics_, he scoffs to himself.

As if reading his mind, Claire says, “Or he’ll wonder why you’re trusting a ghost, telling you about someone you’ve never met before, over him. If you tell him what I’ve told you and Castiel says different, would Dean try to talk you out of it?”

She lets her words sink in. “When it comes down to it, Aaron only has me…and you, now. It’s not about going against your brother, Sam. It’s about knowing when to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, doing what you know in your heart needs to be done. But you already know that.”

“All too well.” Sam draws his lips into a thin line and stares straight ahead, wrinkling his forehead in deep contemplation. “This is not going to end well.”

“It’s not much of a choice,” she admits. “I’m asking you on behalf of my son.”

She closes her eyes and takes a centering breath, then levels pleading eyes at him. “I’m asking as a mother who would trade herself for her child’s life. Please give Aaron a chance, like you.”

Sam gives a small laugh and watches Dean exit the diner. “I’m hardly the poster child for doing the right thing.”

“What’s right?” Claire asks incredulously. “You remember my friend Charlie?”

Sam murmurs, “Yes.”

With kindness in her voice, she says, “Charlie believed he was doing the right thing by Aaron but I couldn’t see it at the time. None of us could. Sometimes you have to do what looks wrong to everyone else.”

After a moments pause she says, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“…”

“Maybe we can change the rules,” she offers and the upward inflection at the end hints of wonder at the sheer possibility entailed.

Sam watches Dean glance sternly around the parking lot. There is authoritative tension in his shoulders and brisk walk, carrying the weight of the world on his back, the result of one (not so) certain path which is already playing out in a way that has them teetering on the edge of disaster. The pieces for Armageddon are almost all in place and lines of contention are still be drawn, negotiated and reset.

Dean looks to the car and meets Sam’s gaze.

Fighting for their lives (not wanting to consider the battle higher powers are attempting to set into motion between them), Sam knows there has to be something of Claire’s viewpoint worth considering. The roads they have traveled have served them to a point but consequences are increasingly dire and Sam is aware he would be remiss to let it go on, unchecked. Not when he can try to do something about it.

At some point, Dean will understand. He has to. Sam needs him to.

Lowering the paper, Sam closes it and folds it in half. “What do you have in mind?”

**-END-**

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: 1. Desperate times call for desperate measures  
> 2\. Sam and Dean come across the ghost of Claire, who tells them to find her son, Aaron, because he's special like Sam. Aaron is still living with Kate.  
> 3\. Claire/Sam (general)  
> 4\. Kate/Dean (general) (blink and you'll miss it)


End file.
